


Clean Slate

by titC



Series: Lucy [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: A good dog - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Post Punisher season 1, bit of Violence, bit of blood, bit of foul language, post Daredevil season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-23 01:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17070803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: Pete Castiglione wantedpeace, okay?





	Clean Slate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Entropyrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Clean Slate 重新开始(翻译/Translation)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20460866) by [sandunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandunder/pseuds/sandunder)



> For EntropyRose's prompt(s) first kiss (not quite), capture and rescue (more or less), cuddles in the back of the truck under the stars (kinda)...  
> have a dog instead?  
> Matt and Frank did not cooperate regarding the prompts, the little shits (who is surprised?).  
> Big big thanks to [Beguile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beguile/pseuds/Beguile) for the Beta!  
> Also covers my DaredevilBingo prompt, "clean slate" (i was strong and resisted the urge to title this _Tabula Rasa_ but i want you to know i thought about it).

 

Carlie had said the lawyer who’d helped them win their case was coming to the shelter today, some final paperwork thing. Frank wasn’t too concerned. His experience with lawyers was, well. It was what it was. He preferred keeping to himself; taking care of the dogs and being the handyman around the place – putting up a new kennel, fixing a truck engine, putting away the pet food when it was delivered, keeping an eye on the place at night. Anything he could do that meant he didn’t have to talk to people. He preferred dogs.

In exchange, he lived there, in a little one-room apartment right above the office; and they paid him. Not much, but enough. He didn’t need a lot. Some weekends, David invited him; he’d spend the afternoon tinkering with something or other with the kids and share a bottle of wine or two with Sarah and David, who kept trying to convince him to meet new people. As revenge, he was on a mission to get them to adopt a dog from the shelter, and he was getting there. So there was that.

He missed Max, but Max had been through too much, and the vet at the shelter – she’d been nice. That was why he was working there, once he’d recovered and his Castiglione beard had grown back in. He’d knocked and asked if they needed anyone, and they did. He didn’t want to go back to construction work. Dogs, though. Dogs were fine.

So now there he was, up on the roof, checking the gutters and drains to be sure he wouldn’t meet some fancy lawyer. But then Carlie called him down, and – goddammit.

“Hey Pete, this is Matt Murdock, the lawyer I told you about?” Yeah, the block wouldn’t be razed for new, shiny high-rise buildings, good. Did it have to be _him_ , though? “Matt, this is Pete Castiglione. He’s, well, he’s our lifesaver here; he’s great with the dogs and he’s helping around a lot, too.”

Murdock lifted a hand from his cane and held it out, and Frank shook it with a grunt. No need to give his boss any idea that he might become a people person.

“Pleasure, Mr Castiglione.”

Frank glared at Carlie; what had she made him come down for? “Pete, I must go back inside but I’d like to get Mr Murdock to meet Lucy.”

Lucy? “Lucy?” Murdock said.

“She was brought to us last month, she’s a really good girl. We can’t find who she belongs to, her chip was removed; but we found out she was trained as a seeing-eye dog.” Murdock’s smile dropped. “We’re pretty sure we’ll find her a home, but she’s not fit to do the job she was trained for anymore.”

“Can’t you find where she comes from? Those dogs are pretty expensive to train, there must be a record of a missing one.” So Murdock didn’t like dogs, or maybe it was just seeing-eye dogs.

“Well, we’ve called a few places, yes; but she’s visibly scarred and the way she acts… We don’t know what happened. We’re trying to find her a good, quiet home, but she’s easily spooked and, well, not pretty now.”

“Which I can’t see.”

“Which you can’t see.”

“I don’t have time to properly care for a dog, Carlie.”

“Can’t you just meet her? I mean, you’re, um.”

“I’m blind, yes, I know. But I do well enough without a dog.”

Carlie looked crestfallen; she must have thought she was about to make the match of the century. “Just come and scratch her ears at least,” Frank said. “It’ll make her happy.” Frank thought it would make both Lucy and Carlie happy, _and_ have the added bonus of pissing Murdock off. All good things, right? Frank sighed. Having to take him to the dog was a small price to pay.

 

“So, Pete, how long have you been working at the shelter?”

Shit. He was making small talk. “A while.”

Murdock hummed. “Carlie likes you. She’s mentioned you a few times. Said you can fix anything.”

“I’m good with my hands.”

“Looking for extra work?”

Frank opened the kennel door and whistled. “I’m not leaving this job. Hey girl,” He said to Lucy. She was looking up at him with her tongue lolling out, then zeroed it on Murdock’s cane. What was _he_ fishing for, anyway? Didn’t he recognize his voice, or his smell, or something? Karen had said he’d had a building fall on him; maybe he was a bit scrambled in the brains now.

“Oh, I’m not asking you to. My apartment suffered damage last year when there was that earthquake, and the landlord doesn’t care that it needs some work beyond checking it won’t collapse. Eh, I’ll ask around.”

“Yeah, you do that. So, that’s Lucy. Go on, she won’t bite.”

Murdock held out a hand and Lucy immediately went to sit at his feet. “Hello, Lucy.” He scratched behind her ears, and her tail was wagging right away.

“She likes you.”

“Aw, does she?” Murdock gave him a big shit-eating grin. “I’m likable.”

 _No, you’re not_ , Frank didn’t say. “Want to stay a little? Play with her, try her out?”

“Try her out? Didn't you say she wasn’t fit to be a seeing-eye dog?”

“Jumpy, scarred dogs can’t be official seeing-eye dogs, but she’s still trained. Just, no loud noises. Maybe it’d work out for you.”

“It wouldn’t. I don’t keep regular hours; that’s no good for a dog.” He gave her a final scritch-scratch. “But I’m sure she’s a very good dog, Pete.”

“She is.” Why was he still calling him Pete while Carlie was away in the office? “What kind of work?”

“Hm?” Murdock didn’t seem able to take his hand away from her fur after all, and Lucy was doggy-grinning.

“At your place. What kind of work?”

“Oh, you know. Plaster, painting. Plumbing’s been funny ever since the quake, too. Probably a window pane to readjust. I can’t really see all that needs to be done, since, well.”

“Yeah.” Shit, he didn’t know. He wouldn’t ask Frank to come fix his place if he knew, right? “Don’t you make proper money to pay for proper repairs?”

Murdock shrugged. “Not really, no. And Carlie said you were good and could do with a little extra.”

“Don’t need much.” More petting. He _liked_ Lucy. Hah.

“Well. Offer’s on the table.” Frank watched Lucy leave Murdock’s side. He looked heartbroken for a second but covered it quickly, then smiled again when she pushed a tennis ball into his hand. “Aw, you wanna play?” He bounced the ball up and down in his hand and turned to Frank. “Where to?”

“Your nine o’clock,” he said.

Lucy ran like a shot after it, and Murdock looked more like a kid who’d won the biggest toy than a guy who beat up people at night in a stupid costume. “Look,” Frank said. “I can come look around over the weekend, but only if I can bring Lucy with me. Deal?” Murdock was surprised; happy and trying to hide it. He wasn’t successful. “You can take her for a walk while I check your place.” He’d make a little extra to get David’s family some presents and he wouldn't have to deal with altar boy if he sent him out with Lucy.

Who, shit, was now honest-to-god beaming. “Well, Pete. It’s a deal.”

They shook on it and Lucy went back in her kennel; then Frank climbed back on the roof, Murdock’s address in his back pocket.

Fuck, what had he signed for? Sarah was going to be very smug at him next Saturday and David always sided with her just to annoy him, the asshole. Maybe he should take Lucy with him to _their_ place to piss them off, yeah.

 

He didn’t take Lucy with him on Saturday (Sarah would have murdered him and Leo would probably have refused to let the dog go back to the shelter anyway), but she was with him when he knocked on Murdock’s door on Sunday morning. He’d borrowed the shelter’s oldest truck so Lucy wouldn’t have to suffer through the subway, and so he could carry some tools too. He didn’t think he’d do much more today than assess the damage and see what needed to be done, but there might still be some small things he could do.

No one answered for a while, then an older lady opened the door behind him. “You here for the repairs?” Frank nodded. “He said you’d come. You can wait for him in here,” she said. “I have coffee.” Frank shrugged and followed her in.

“I’m Fran,” she said.

“Pete.”

She fawned a little over Lucy and gave her a water bowl, then poured them both some coffee. If Murdock’s apartment was anything like hers, it sure needed some fixing up. He watched her fight with her faucet for a moment. “Want me to take a look?”

Half an hour later, he’d fixed her kitchen sink and he thought she was about to ask for his hand.

Murdock arrived as Frank was readjusting her front door. “Sorry,” he said. He switched the paper bag from one hand to the other so he could pet Lucy who’d bounded to him as soon as he’d appeared. Traitor. “Client called after mass, an emergency. Don’t have your number, Pete.”

“You could have left a note on your door!” Fran said.

“Well, I can’t really write.” Murdock pointed at his glasses.

“S’fine. Did some repairs.” Frank wiped his hands on his jeans. “Think the door’s good now,” he said.

Fran gushed some more at him while Murdock was trying to get Lucy to keep her nose away from his bag, then she shooed them both out to go visit her grandchildren.

Soon enough, Frank was eating some admittedly pretty good bagels on Murdock’s kitchen counter. “Sweet old lady,” he said.

“If she likes you, yes. Do you have a phone, Pete? It would be easier in case this happens again.”

“Nah. Where did you find them?” He poked at the paper bag.

“Little place two blocks from here. Foggy, my partner; he often gets bagels there when we win a case. Victory bagels, he calls them. Thought it was the least I could do if I was to be late.”

“They’re good.” Frank looked around. The place was sparse, and he wondered what it looked like at night with the giant billboard on the other side of the street and no blinds or curtains on the windows. “Plaster does look damaged.”

“Hm.” Murdock’s attention had switched to Lucy, who’d rested her chin on his thigh.

“Wanna take her out while I see what I can do?” At least it would get him out of his hair.

“Sure. I’ll change first, though.”

He disappeared behind a sliding door and Lucy waited patiently behind, flopped on the wooden floorboards with her head between her front paws. When he got out, he was wearing casual jeans and an old, too-large Columbia sweatshirt. Frank refused to admit he looked good. Softer.

“I left a few toys by your door; a couple balls, a Frisbee. She knows not to get them out herself, but be prepared for assault as soon as you do.”

Murdock swiped his cane around until it hit the bag. “All right, got it. Thanks for this, Pete. For waiting, and helping Fran, and…” He waved a hand in the direction of the most cracked wall.

“Ain’t done nothing yet. Get out already, Lucy’s been cooped up too long.”

Murdock laughed, picked the toys up and turned back to Frank. “No leash?”

“Touch her back.”

He did, and found the harness’ handle. “I don’t need…”

“Makes her feel needed. She was trained for this, all right?”

Murdock raised his eyebrows. “For the dog, then.”

“Yeah.”

“All right then. All right.”

Alone at last. Murdock was touchy about the blind thing, but what he’d said held true: Lucy _liked_ being a seeing-eye dog. As soon as she had the harness on, she perked up and held her head higher. They’d have their fun, and Frank would work in peace. Win-win.

 

Couple hours later, Murdock was back. He’d removed the harness, but Frank could see it poking out of the toy bag.

“Had a good time?”

“Hm. People kept asking me what had happened to her.”

“She sure looks like a lot happened to her.”

“I know she’s missing an ear, and I found some burn marks on her back when I took the harness off. Is there anything else?”

“Couple nasty scars. She’s fine now.” Frank shoved the washing machine back into its alcove. “Why did you take it off? The harness.”

Murdock shrugged. “We didn’t need it.”

We, huh. “She likes it.”

“She kept trying to push it in my hand, and then you can’t have a working dog chasing Frisbees in a park.”

“You didn’t try to let her guide you?”

He bristled like an angry cat. “I don’t _need_ a seeing-eye dog.”

“Sure. But you can have things you don’t need, too.”

Murdock seemed to oscillate between extremes. Spartan furniture, silk sheets on his bed. A suspiciously (for a simple lawyer) well-stocked first aid kit, and no trace of the stupid red body armor with horns. Simple, bland food but most of it was organic and probably expensive. Unscented shampoos, old-as-fuck books, cheap ties, a couple silk shirts.

While Frank went back to checking the water pipes were all good in the alcove, Murdock went to wash his hands and then filled a bowl with water for Lucy. She followed him around and looked up at him with doggy adoration, ignoring the water.

“What about you, Pete? What is it you’d like to have and don’t need?”

“Not my shrink, Murdock.”

“Matt.” Frank grunted. Whatever. “You got a shrink?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“It’s been known to help.”

“I’m good.” Frank started putting his things back into the toolbox. He was done for today, and he had a pretty good idea of what to bring next weekend. Fuck, he was coming back. “You?”

“Me?”

“You got a shrink?”

Murdock shrugged. “I have a priest.” His mouth turned down a little. It was a pretty distinctive mouth, especially back when it was framed by his stupid mask. “Had.”

“He dead?” Karen had told him about it. Murdock nodded. “Didn’t find a new one?”

“Father Lantom… he knew me pretty well. Known me since I was an angry kid. You can’t really replace that.”

 _You’re still an angry kid_ , Frank thought. “Yeah. But a priest is not a shrink.”

“I guess. But I’m not sure a lawyer and a shrink can get along, you know, Pete?” And there was that shit-eating grin of his.

Frank was starting to wonder if Murdock had any other kind of smile; one that was one less of a challenge to the world perhaps. It reminded him of Billy’s sometimes, and that wasn’t something he wanted to think about. Both good-looking men, both with shitty childhoods. Frank wondered if there was a pattern in the guys he ended up around. They hadn’t turned out quite the same, though. One had ended up rotten to the core, and the other… fuck.

Frank resented it, but he couldn’t hate Red. He was an idiot, he was stubborn, he was idealistic and annoying but… he was _trying_ , trying to make his little corner of the world better, and Frank… he’d stopped fighting. Put the guns away, let his knuckles heal, and tried to find peace, but he knew himself. Deep down, what his heart wanted was war. Murdock had never stopped, had he? Maybe he wasn’t wearing that horned thing any longer, but he was still fighting the good fight as a lawyer. And what did _he_ do? Walk dogs, unclog drains.

He didn’t mind it. He even liked it; doing something with his hands, seeing the end results, fixing shit.

But he wanted to make a real difference. He wanted to put bullets in assholes, he wanted to stop them for good, and all he was doing was… walking dogs. That wasn’t his purpose. It couldn't be, could it?

“Pete?” Murdock sounded worried. “Pete, you with me? You zoned out for a minute here.”

“Huh. Yeah. Sorry.” Lucy was nosing his palm, and he patted her head. Poor girl was worried. “We should leave. Pretty late, yeah.”

Murdock touched his watch. “Yeah, traffic’s gonna be terrible if you wait too long.” He tilted his head. “So what’s your diagnosis?”

“Apartment needs some work.”

“Next Sunday good for you?”

Well, what the hell, sure. “Yeah. Tell Fran if you’re late again. I liked her coffee.”

Murdock made a face but nodded. “Will do. Or, you know, you can get a phone.” He crouched and looked for something in the briefcase he’d left leaning against the kitchen counter. “Here’s my number.”

Frank ran his fingers on the card. There was Braille on it, too. “Must be expensive to get done. The embossing.”

“I guess it’s our brand, you know? Foggy Nelson, and the blind one with the glasses.” And there it was, the Murdock come-and-get-me grin.

“Yeah. Next Sunday, then. Come on, girl,” he said, and he didn’t look back to see if Murdock was sad Lucy was leaving.

Next Sunday.

 

The week went by quickly: fixed the leak in the roof, changed the heater in Carlie’s office; helped Naye, the vet, with a couple nervous dogs. He didn’t go to David’s that week, so he spent Saturday going all over the city, checking the few places where he still had weapons stored. He cleaned his guns, made sure they were in good working order, and his mind went quiet.

He got a cheap phone too, sent Sarah a message, and after hesitating for a good long time, he entered Murdock’s number. Then he loaded up the shelter’s old truck with what he needed for the next day and went back out at night with a few smaller guns tucked in a back holster. Naye had mentioned drug dealers in her neighborhood, the kind that tried to sell their shit to little kids. He thought he should keep his hand in, make sure his aim was still sure. Just in case.

It went well. For him, not for them.

But Murdock – the little fucker. Those Breaking Bad wannabes had first set up shop in Hell’s Kitchen and of course the Kitchen’s friendly neighborhood dumbass had chased them out, and of course he had left them alive, and of course they’d started again elsewhere. Altar boy would never learn.

Frank was pissed.

He was still pissed when he knocked on his door, still pissed when Lucy made a beeline for the fucking asshole, still pissed when they went out and left him to work on the cracked walls. He was still pissed as fuck when they came back and Lucy had her harness on and Murdock’s nose was red above his scarf, and it was so very clear she preferred the blind moron to him.

“How’s it going, Pete?” Frank grunted. “All right, I’ll take your word for it then.” He was smiling under the scarf, smiling when Lucy followed him to the kitchen, and fucking _giggled_ when she stuck her nose in his groin.

“Worked on your walls,” Frank finally said.

“Oh, good! Wanna stay for dinner?” He waved a few takeout menus and Lucy tried to catch them.

“I’m good. Can’t stay.”

“All right. Maybe another time,” Murdock said. He didn’t even sound disappointed – not that Frank wanted him to be disappointed. Not that he wanted him to want Frank around, because Frank _definitely_ didn’t want to be around. He was just in it for the money and because Lucy liked that idiot, for some reason. It was good for her to get out more. Right.

“Sure.”

Frank packed his tools, mumbled something about being back in a week, and drove back to the shelter with a very maudlin Lucy who kept looking back from where they came.

 

Once back in Queens, he put on warmer clothes, made himself a Thermos of coffee and went up on the shelter’s office roof to think. He could keep an eye on the dogs while the cold wind and almost-scalding joe kept him alert.

While checking walls and knocking down loose plaster that afternoon, he’d found a chest. And, of course, he’d opened it. And, fuck. Daddy Murdock’s blood-red robe, still pristine. Then, under it – ropes, black cargo pants, heavy black shoes, black bandanas… the works. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen works, to be exact. Yeah, he’d fired up Murdock’s laptop, looked up sightings, looked up Battlin’ Jack too. Murdock was still at it, with an even stupider costume that provided no protection and apparently, on top of his Catholic addiction, daddy issues that had to be through the roof. Shit. That wasn’t how you went about a mission. Red would get himself killed one day. Lucky he hadn’t been so far, really.

 _But_ _is that your problem?_ It was Murdock’s choice, no one else’s, including being an idiot.

Still, hadn’t he saved Karen, twice? Hadn’t he proved he was a good fighter, hadn’t he tried to help Frank too? Hadn’t he carried him out of a building infested with angry, murderous bikers? Didn’t he owe him something?

_You helped him too. There’s no debt. He doesn’t even know who you are._

Ah, shit. Truth in coffee.

Frank ran down the fire escape, coaxed the truck’s engine into life in spite of the night’s freezing temperatures, and drove back to Hell’s Kitchen.

 

It became a pattern. Go up on the roof most nights, ponder his life decisions, end up following Murdock around.

Even in the cold winter nights, he only wore his stupid black get-up, and Frank also found out what the ropes were for. Red punched hard (as he knew very well), but the ropes had to make it even worse. He wasn’t sure it was good protection, but what did he know? Frank used proper, military-grade stuff; not cutesy Eastern wisdom shit that looked cool and must take an hour to tie properly or whatever. And his head – for fuck’s sake, Murdock. Not only must everyone know he was blind by now, but what kind of protection could some fabric give him? What if he got shot in the head again? What, then?

So Frank tracked Matt’s comings and goings, observed his fighting style, too. Less fancy backflips, more brutal force. Karen had said he’d gotten severely injured to the point he couldn’t walk and was half-deaf at some point. Maybe his back or whatever couldn’t take it anymore? Whatever. Frank didn’t care, really.

What he cared about, though, was that he still didn’t properly finish any of the bastards he took on. He scared them, he got information out of them, he dumped them in front of police stations, but kill them? Nope, not altar boy. They would reappear somewhere else sooner or later, and they’d be someone else’s job.

Sometimes, Murdock finished his nights in a church, especially when he was a bit bloodier than usual. Once, a sister met him and slipped under his shoulder to help him hobble inside. Two hours or so later, Matt Murdock, attorney at law, walked out of the church with a light limp while a nun – same slight build, probably the same one – lectured him or something like it, given their body language. Murdock, of course, hated it, and tried to walk faster than her. _She_ walked faster too. When they reached the end of the block, she grabbed his arm and turned him around to face her and berated him so much he hung his head like a naughty schoolboy. It made Frank’s entire day from the moment he left his perch in front of the church, to the moment he went to bed. Carlie even asked what he was snickering about, all alone in the bathroom he was refurbishing for the shelter’s offices.

He didn’t tell her.

 

Two months after shaking his hand under Carlie’s watchful eye, he’d finished his Sunday repair jobs in Murdock’s apartment and had started on the other tenants’. Frank was pretty sure Fran was on the verge of inviting him for Sunday roast with her family, and he was thinking up of ways to escape it.

Murdock had, of course, refused to adopt Lucy but still spent his entire Sundays with her while Frank was smartening up the entire building. Sometimes, he looked pretty beat up, but he always made a shitty excuse about muggings or falling down stairs or whatever. He wondered if anyone bought it, because Frank, well – even if he hadn’t known the truth, he wouldn’t have bought _that_. Every Sunday, Murdock tried to get him to stay for dinner; and every Sunday, Frank declined and Lucy looked forlornly out of the truck window as he drove her back to the shelter. She was _his_ dog now, and she still liked the other idiot better. _You should know better_ , Frank thought at her every Sunday.

But, eh. You didn't choose who you loved.

 

That Sunday, though. That Sunday, Murdock had looked more pinched than he usually did after a regular rough night out. He’d still gone out with Lucy, but Frank wondered if they’d even gone as far as the park. Maybe he’d just sat on a bench and looked like a martyr all afternoon? They came back earlier than usual too, and there was no takeout offer. Even Lucy was subdued – worried?

He’d heard about a ring of weapons dealers supplying guns for a lot of gangs on the East Coast. He’d heard also of lawyers hired by locals to help with the sudden spike of violence and death in some poorer areas. They were trying to sue the NYPD for not providing equal protection to all neighborhoods, and there was no need for more than one guess to find out who the lawyers were. And which stupid vigilante was also seen going after them.

That Sunday night, Frank came back to Hell’s Kitchen. He’d brought Lucy with him, in case he needed her nose – he’d seen her stealing a shirt or two from Murdock’s hamper; she liked his smell. He left her in the truck to start with, fastened his bulletproof vest and zipped up a hoodie over the skull. Then he took to the roof with some light but deadly firepower. The bigger guns were back with Lucy, but for now it was only recon.

He quickly found out what he was looking for – an old, decrepit building with boarded up windows and very suspicious noises coming from inside. He made his way in, rolled his eyes when the lights suddenly went out and the fighting began. Grunts, oofs, thuds, the works. Some mook was yelling, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot, you’ll hit me!” and the stench of piss was a sudden reminder of his war days. Of his Punisher days.

Maybe he’d never left them, he thought as he slid night-goggles down over his face. Maybe he couldn’t ever leave them.

He began shooting.

 

Half an hour later, it stank of blood more than piss. Red was nowhere to be seen, but Frank though he’d heard noises upstairs in between mowing down the shit-heads, so he made his way to the stairs. There were a couple loud bangs and some terrible chemical smell that clogged his nose, and he ran up just in time to see two guys throw a limp one out of the window. There was a dull thump, a yell of, “Got him!” and an engine driving away.

Frank’s blood was pulsing heavy and slow in his head. He unzipped his hoodie and took the goggles off. The streetlights were more than enough to find them.

He strode to them, their death nearer with very step he took: their painful, bloody death. He heard one whimper, “Oh, shit!” and try to run away; the other made to jump out. Frank shot their legs out from under them and they crashed down, bleeding out. The first one was blindly patting the emptiness below his knee; the other was staring at the ceiling and praying. They didn’t have long, but long enough to get some intel and then make them watch as he destroyed their camera’s memory card. He’d make sure of it.

 

Two hours later, Frank and Lucy were scouring Arden Woods. From what they’d said before bleeding out, the plan was to dump Red in the middle of the woods and hope wolves would eat him or whatever. Good thing they hadn’t been too smart. Or local for that matter – they’d seen his face and hadn’t recognized him. The picture had just been insurance.

Frank had picked up Murdock’s mask from the floor before leaving the building, and when he presented it to Lucy once they’d left the car she perked up straight away and started to sniff around. _Good girl,_ he thought. _Good girl. Now find your man, yeah?_

She did. It took an hour-and-a-half of shining his flashlight under every suspicious bush, getting scratched by leafless branches, following every turn Lucy took, but they found him. Red wasn’t even shivering, and given the outside temperatures that wasn’t a good sign. Frank jumped down into the ditch and got mud all over his pants. Red’s body heat had made the frozen water melt around him. Shit. He rolled him into a blanket that was half-dog hair, half-wool and lifted him out.

Frank almost ran back to his truck. He could feel Red clawing his way back into consciousness and he would panic – panic, and fight. Frank knew his kind: fight first, everything else later.

He threw him into the truck bed and leaned his flashlight against the front cabin. Lucy jumped after Murdock, whining and nosing his face and trying to get him to react. “Hey,” Frank said. “D’you hear me?” Murdock was patting his ears, his face with stiff fingers, mumbling something like, “No, no, I can’t…”

Ok, fine. The shock grenade had messed him up good; maybe it was one of those new ones he’d heard about. Shit, altar boy must be panicking, but if Frank started to take his wet clothes off now it would be even worse. How could he tell him he was safe if he couldn’t hear him? Smell him? He looked at Lucy.

Well, shit.

“Down, girl. Let me – there.” Murdock’s hands were freezing, and the next thing to do would be to remove the wet ropes, but first he put them on Lucy’s head. He guided him to her scarred truffle, her torn off right ear, the cigarette burns down her neck; he let him explore her familiar coat on his own.

“Lucy?” It was just a whisper, but it was enough. He knew. “Frank?” Shit, he _knew_. Fuck, how long had he known? The asshole, as soon as he was recovered, Frank was going to kill him with his own hands. What long game had he been playing all this time? What the fuck did he think?

“Frank,” Murdock said again before slumping down in a wet pile.

Lucy settled herself along Murdock and Frank hurried to remove the half-frozen ropes, the boots, the wet pants, and the torn sweatshirt. He wrapped Murdock up in an electric blanket and set a few heat packs in strategic places. That would hopefully warm him up enough so he wouldn’t keel over during the drive back, because Lucy would never forgive either of them, he knew.

He wondered if Curt would yell at him for his chosen treatment, but it seemed to be working. The old truck’s heating was not reliable enough to warm the idiot up anyway, what with blasting hot and cold air at random. Frank settled to wait and drink coffee, and an hour or so later Murdock was waking up, his eyelids fluttering open.

“Frank?” His voice was low and rough.

“Yeah.”

There was a little whine, and Murdock smiled. “Hey, girl.” Lucy rearranged herself over his legs, and his smile grew. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Murdock sighed. “Take your pick.”

“Being an idiot? Letting me think you hadn’t recognized me? Taking stupid risks? Not finishing off the motherfuckers you take down so they go and set up shop elsewhere? Because they do, Murdock. I can guarantee you they do.” He weighed his last Thermos. It was still about half full. “Let’s just go with you’re an idiot. That covers it all.”

The smile had disappeared, and his sightless eyes were lazily moving and settling nowhere. “You didn't have to come for me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“So you’ve said.”

“But you’re Lucy’s idiot.”

“Oh,” Murdock said. His eyes closed again. “That coffee?”

“Yeah.”

Murdock fought and mostly lost against the blanket, so Frank sighed and manhandled the idiot so he’d rest against his chest. The metallic body of the car was too cold, he’d decided. God, Murdock felt small.

“Please?”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to have coffee when hypothermic,” Frank said.

“Was not.” Frank coughed and tried to hide his smile, not that the idiot could see it. “Was meditating.”

“Sure, you were.”

“Well, I _was_. M’still here, right?”

“Aw, shut up, Red.”

“Why do you call me that?” Red asked after a beat. “I’m wearing black right now. I think.”

“Yeah, you are. Were. You’re wearing a blanket now. Red.” Frank poured some coffee into the cup and handed it to the icicle. Murdock’s hands were none too steady, and Frank kept his own fingers wrapped around his.

“Name’s Matt,” he said. He didn’t seem in any hurry to drink, just to hold it in his cold hands and let them be held in return in a warmth sandwich. Yeah, Frank thought. That sounded about right. Lucy wriggled on Murdock’s lap. “Matt, not Red.”

“I know.”

“You never use it.”

Frank shrugged. “Marine thing,” he said.

“Sure.” Murdock wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t push.

Fuck, he really was tiny. How could anyone punch so hard and be so stubborn in such a tiny frame? He had no fat, just breakable bones and bruised muscles and rage and faith. Well, he remembered Billy. Billy had been, even with their training, a scrawny dude; but also tall and fast. He hadn’t punched as hard, but boy had he been fast. Murdock, though. He was both hard and fast and he never, ever stayed down. And he never set out to kill people. He didn’t let little kids be shot into a bloody pulp in their father’s arms. He _didn’t_.

“Frank. Frank, stay with me. Frank?” He blinked to clear his mind and found Matt had twisted around, patting his face with cold, limp fingers. His eyes roved over Frank’s face and around, mostly aimed in the right direction. “Frank?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what this time, more Catholic bullshit?”

That earned him a smile, and the cup of coffee shoved in his chest. “You’re lucky I didn’t spill it.” Frank grunted and took it. “Karen told me about some of the shit you went through recently.” He resettled against Frank’s chest. His cheeks were cold, fancy meditation crap or not.

“She told me about yours.”

“I’m sure. Frank, I…” He tensed a bit, but didn’t move away either. “When Carlie introduced you as Pete, I thought, all right. Maybe that’s what he wants, needs, I don’t know. A fresh page. So I called you Pete, and you never let up you knew me, and it just… it was good to get to know you outside of, you know.”

Frank let his chin rest over Red’s hair. His nose was still red, so yes – still Red, for now. “And you like Lucy.” She woofed softly from where she was using Murdock’s legs as bony pillows.

“Maybe,” he answered.

Frank smiled. “Yeah, maybe.” He finished the coffee and looked up at the sky. It was slowly turning from a dark purple to pink.

“S’morning,” he said.

“We should go back.”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t move, not until Lucy jumped off the truck to go do her business somewhere on the forest floor.

Matt tried to push himself up and pretend he still wasn’t wobbly as hell, but Frank wasn’t having any of it and caught him before he face-planted on the dirt. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said. “Not more of one. Ask for help, you know?”

“I… I’m working on it.” Matt was wobbly, yes, and he was a bit lost too, holding his hands out to feel for some clue to situate himself. “Shit, my hearing and balance are still messed up from that grenade.”

Frank led him to the passenger door and helped him up. “There you go.”

“Aw, Frank. Not letting me drive?”

Frank threw the blanket at his head and whistled for Lucy to jump over the bundle, and he climbed up into the driver’s seat.

They were quiet for most of the way back until Matt, his nose now a normal color, lifted his head from the window and said, “You know, Frank, I kinda admire you.”

Frank almost drove into a garbage truck. “The fuck?”

“Well, you know.” Murdock took a few slow breaths before continuing. His voice was still rough. “You stick to what you think is right, no matter what. You finish what you start. I may not always agree with your methods, but…you never give up. You’re so unstoppable hell itself couldn’t stop you. And you did go through hell, Frank. And you’re still here, caring for dogs and fixing Fran’s sink and coming to get me. You didn’t have to.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to get back on your own, would you?”

“Probably not.”

“Well, then.”

“I mean… I mean, thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He did it for Lucy, all right? Mostly.

It was still early enough that a guy drunkenly stumbling out of a truck into another guy’s arms didn’t raise too many eyebrows, but Frank still hurried them inside, Lucy on their heels. Murdock, of course, insisted on climbing the stairs himself, but what he did was mainly cling to the handrail and pretend Frank wasn’t half-carrying him. Frank let Matt have his dignity. This time.

Once lying sideways on his couch, Murdock changed his mind and started to try and get back up again.

“What?” Frank asked.

“I need to call Foggy,” Matt said. “I’ll work from here today, but I should warn him.”

Frank pushed him back down against the cushions. Work, sure. “You stay here. I’ll get your phone.” He looked around and spotted it on the kitchen counter. He took it and knocked on Murdock’s chest with it.

“Oh, thanks.” Murdock started dictating a message into it as Frank filled Lucy’s water bowl and set it near the little rug she’d appropriated a few weeks ago on a rainy Sunday when they’d stayed indoors. Frank had ignored Murdock most of the day, Murdock had worked on his computer, and Lucy had watched over them two. It had been… quiet.

Frank looked at Red and wondered if he’d ever get that blanket back. “You all right by yourself?”

“Sure.” Cars had started honking outside, regular morning city noises. “Traffic’s going to be a bitch right about now.”

“Yeah.” Frank stayed there, elbows on the back of the couch, watching Murdock’s slow blinks. Matt’s slow blinks.

“I need a shower.” Matt kept running his fingers over the worn fabric of the blanket.

“M’not helping you.”

“Not asking you to, but.” Matt smiled. “Stay? I know you follow me some nights. It’s just the same. In case I fall down and break a leg.”

“Still weak as a kitten, uh.”

“Shut up,” he said.

Frank did and helped Matt get entirely out of the blanket and his underwear, then led him to his bathroom. He hoped Matt wouldn’t die in the time it would take him to go retrieve his getaway duffel bag from the truck. Now they’d talked of a shower, he could think of nothing else – washing the blood and grime of the night away, slip into clean clothes, doze on the couch right there. It looked perfect for a good daytime shut-eye. Frank wanted to take his bulletproof vest off, he wanted the Punisher away from him and away from here at least for now. He wanted… he wanted, yeah.

When he came back into the apartment, the shower was still running. He dropped his bag in a corner, took his hoodie off and started to remove the vest because leaving it in the truck was a spectacularly bad idea, and as he dumped it on top of the Daredevil chest, Matt’s phone started chanting, _Foggy. Foggy. Foggy._

Shit. He hesitated, then poked at it until he could answer. “Yeah.”

“Hey Matt, you – okay, who are you? Why do you have that phone? Have you kidnapped him? Oh my god, what – ”

“Relax, Nelson. He’s in the shower.” There was a sputtering sound on the other end of the line. “He’s a bit banged up, but he’ll be fine.”

“Who are you?”

“Pete.”

“What?”

“Pete. Frank. And our girl Lucy,” Frank added as he scratched behind her ears.

“ _What?_ ”

“Frank Castle,” he said.

“Shit! Karen, he talks to you, right? Castle? Can you talk to him?” He couldn't make out her answer. “Punisher’s kidnapped Matt. I think?”

His voice faded out before Karen spoke. “Hi, Frank.”

“Hi.” He swallowed. She was his one fixed thing around which his past and present were tied, the only one who never hid and helped him come back, too. “You alright?”

She sighed. “Yeah. So you’re the mystery weekend person, then?” Frank nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see him. It didn’t seem to matter, though. “Matt’s been cagey about why he was always busy on Sundays and came back to the office every Monday with a big smile.”

“That’s because of Lucy. The dog.”

“Uh huh.” He could picture her smile. “And right now he’s having a shower while you’re answering his phone.”

“Karen, no! My brain!” Nelson was having some sort of attack, apparently.

“It’s not like that,” Frank said. He didn’t think it was. Lucy looked at him like she expected something.

“All right. Look, take care, all right? Both of you. Tell Matt we’ll see him tomorrow, and… don’t be a stranger, Frank.”

“I won’t.”

A cloud of steam filled the room when he hung up, and he kept an eye on Murdock as he followed the wall to the sliding door, then his bed. “Did you answer my phone?”

“Your buddy Nelson was worried.”

“Especially if you answered, yeah.” He looked small and fragile in his too-big sweatshirt and thick socks and loose sweatpants. Frank knew he wasn’t. Knew he was tough as shit, tough enough he didn’t feel the need to look the part. “You staying?” Lucy made a beeline for the bed and settled against Murdock’s back with a happy whine.

“Can’t trust you not to pull some stupid stunt while you’re still all banged up,” he said.

The blankets-and-dog pile hummed, and Frank went to take his own shower. He hoped there was some hot water left.

 

“Frank,” he heard when he got out.

“You’re supposed to sleep,” Frank said. He leaned against the bed, considered sitting next to Matt’s hip.

“Hey, Frank. You didn't have a beard before, did you?”

Frank sat. “Not when we first met, no.”

“Uh. And no one recognizes you?”

“Seems like.” Matt mulled over that for a while, and Frank waited patiently. More was coming, he knew. Always questions, like a fucking shrink.

“Frank.” Ah, here it came.

“Yeah. “

“What color is your hair?”

“Black.”

“Oh.”

“Beard too.”

Matt’s fingers twitched on the bed. “Is it long?”

“What, beard or hair?”

“Both.”

“I’ve been called a hipster.” Did that make sense to a blind man? “And _your_ hair is always a mess and you never shave, Red,” he said.

“ _Frank_.”

What? He didn’t feel ready to call him the other thing out loud. Not yet.

Frank wondered what Murdock's own hair felt like. It refused to stay down, just like the guy. It wasn’t quite dry yet. _What the hell_ , he decided. Frank went for it. Damp strands were catching on a callus or two, but they felt soft. Softer than he’d imagined. If he had imagined it. His eyes, Matt’s eyes – they were unfocused as always, roughly in his direction but slightly to the side. They were a lighter color he’d expected, now he could see them properly. His stubble had some red in it, too. “You a redheaded kid, Red?”

Matt groaned. “Auburn.”

“Uh huh. there’s red in your beard.”

“You’ll never let it go, right?”

“Right. _Red_.” Matt tried to kick him but Frank had seen it coming and leaned on his thigh. “Or you can learn to shave.”

“Shut up, I can shave.”

“Prove it.”

The little shit pouted, honest-to-god pouted. “It itches.”

“Aw,” Frank said. But, yeah: he did have a soft, baby-smooth skin. His lips too, when he wasn’t being a _mouthy_ little shit. And when he smiled, his whole face lit up, and Frank thought again, _what the hell_. He kissed the idiot smack in the middle of the forehead and said idiot gaped at him, but then pulled him down on the bed and settled against him and said, “Don’t you dare move.”

Frank wrapped an arm around Matt’s shoulders and watched him wriggle some more until his ear was right against Frank’s chest. “Comfy?” Lucy thought they looked so, because she jumped back on the bed right then. Well, more like on Frank’s stomach, but he let her stay at their feet.

“Hm,” his very own idiot mumbled. “’s your heartbeat, you know. ‘s your heart.”

And then he was out like a light and Frank thought, well, shit.

 

On Tuesday morning, Frank walked Murdock to his office. Lucy’s scars were raising some eyebrows, but Matt was absolutely oblivious. He was holding the harness handle loosely, and she was so happy to be guiding someone that the many city noises and smells didn’t spook her on the short walk, so Frank counted it as a double win – Lucy not having a doggy PTSD moment, and Matt accepting to rely on her.

His kids would have loved a dog. They’d definitely have adopted one once he’d left the Marines, and Maria would have rolled her eyes and made him build a fence and they’d have gone on long walks, all four of them and their dog. It would never happen, but now – now he had Lucy and Red. Yes, _Red_ : the winter sun highlighted the auburn in his hair, and he was glad he could still call him Red, even if only in his thoughts. So: Red.

They stopped at a coffee shop on their way, and the people there were cooing as much about the Good Dog there as they were about the Good Boyfriend, which made Matt both blush and frown. He didn’t set out to prove how very much not helpless (or deaf) blind folks could be, so there was that. He waited near the door, Lucy sitting at his feet, while Frank exercised patience in the morning queue.

As soon as they set foot in the office, Karen made a beeline for them. She wasn’t sure what to start with: the coffees (quickly set on her desk) or the dog (confirmed to be Good Dog) or Frank’s presence (unexpected) or Matt’s quiet smile (also unexpected). Frank liked that smile.

Nelson poked his head out of his office and did a double-take at the scene. Frank guessed he was allowed this time, what with the Punisher himself gracing his practice with Nelson’s own colleague on his arm and Matt’s briefcase hanging from his other.

“Aren’t they cute?” Karen said.

Frank frowned at her. “We’re not cute.”

“Beg your pardon, _I_ am. And Lucy is,” Matt said. He bent a little to pat her head. “Aren’t you, girl?”

“Oh my god.” Nelson looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown.

“I _know_ , right?” Karen was beaming at them so much Frank thought he might go blind too.

“What?” Matt said.

“You… you do realize Frank is wearing your sweatshirt, right?”

Matt tilted his head. “I have a lot of sweatshirts, Foggy. How would you know he’s wearing one of mine?”

“Oh, buddy. Because it’s the old Columbia one you bought even though they only had the bigger ones left and – oh my god, Karen. _Frank Castle is wearing Matt Murdock’s clothes_. I can’t. I have to call Marci, oh my god, I can’t,” he kept mumbling as he barricaded himself back in his office.

“So your coffee’s mine?” Karen said to his closed door.

“Aw, Karen, don’t tease him. We need him, so no breaking Foggy.”

“You started it!” Nelson yelled. “Since when are you into guys anyway? What else have you kept from me? Are you Batman too?”

“Batman doesn’t exist,” Matt said under his breath.

“ _The Punisher is wearing your clothes!_ ”

“I _am_ wearing your sweatshirt,” Frank said. “And carrying your briefcase.”

Matt made an ‘oh, shit’ face and snatched his bag and ran into his own office, Lucy on his heels. Karen and Frank looked at each other.

“So,” she said.

“Yeah, well.”

“I’m happy for you. Both of you.” Frank grunted. He didn’t know what to say, so he eyed the coffees. “You don't look too banged up for people who needed a day off.” She handed him his cup and took her own, and she sipped while looking at him silent and focused in the way she had that made him want to spill whether he wanted to or not. She was curious, he could tell. Maybe it was a rehearsal before Saturday at David’s. Fuck, they were going to grill him. But what could he say?

“We just, you know. Got some rest. Had a rough night.”

“Uh huh.”

Frank drank some coffee to calm his nerves. He shouldn't be on edge, but Karen’s opinion mattered. She’d seen him at his worst and hadn’t run away then, or tried to tie him anywhere, or… “Yeah,” he said. “Went to the park. Spent a couple hours at the dog shelter I work at. Normal things.”

She was smiling at him, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t know what to say. “It’s good, Frank. You both deserve days off from time to time.”

“I haven’t…” He swallowed. “I haven’t forgotten them, you know? Maria and Frank Jr and Lisa.” He pointed at himself, right where the bullet had lodged in his head, and where it would stay forever inside him. Like they would.

“I know. He knows, too.”

“I should… I was the soldier, you know? If anyone had to die first, it wasn’t them. It wasn’t.”

Matt was suddenly right by his side. “I hope you’re not thinking of stealing my coffee,” he said. Fingers were digging into his biceps and just like that, Frank was fully into the present again. “Which one is mine?”

Frank sighed and looked at the names scrawled on the remaining two cups. “That one.” He took it from the cardboard tray and held it near enough he thought Matt should be able to feel the heat.

“Thanks,” he said. The quiet smile was back.

Nelson’s door opened again. “I’ll get mine before y’all steal it, all right?” He eyed them suspiciously, and made his way to the last cup on the desk. “So, Matt. Drinks tonight, the three of us?”

“I don’t kiss and tell, Foggy.” Aw, such a little shit. Frank was so proud.

“MATTHEW MURDOCK, I swear to god I’ll sic your mom on you if you don’t come!”

“Please don’t put those words in the same sentence, Fogs.”

Nelson turned red (hah), and Frank decided a strategic retreat was in order. “Later, Murdock,” he said; and knocked shoulders with Matt before leaving them to their squabbling.

“Later,” he answered, and Frank left with the image of that quiet smile etched in his brain. He hadn’t looked forward so much to anything in a long, long time, and it felt good.

Frank felt good.

**Author's Note:**

> The dog is called Lucy, because, well... the name means light, and the saint is often represented with her eyes on a plate (there are several versions in Catholic lore about this, of course ;-).
> 
> So i suddenly got an urge to write a sequel a couple days before the due date, oopsie! Too late to make it part of this fic in time, but it should be up very soon.


End file.
